


Desert Rose

by Leloi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dreams, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sex, Short Term Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloi/pseuds/Leloi
Summary: John gasped and sat up.  The room was familiar although a little different from what he remembered.  For a time the room had functioned as a second lab.  There were still a collection of beakers on top of the chest of drawers.Memories of Afghanistan began to fade as he took deep, cleansing breaths.  Only the heat remained.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: Mentions of TAB overdose/attempted suicide, dated homophobic slurs and references to AIDS back when it was labeled GRID (although it's unnamed in this fic). See end notes.
> 
> One last Sherlock fic before Season 4. I really, really hope they address the fact that Sherlock ODed on purpose with the intent to die in the next season.
> 
> I've been watching TJLC on Youtube lately and I decided I should play with John and Sholto... And John being a product of his time period when LGBTQ weren't socially acceptable and hidden. John is Bi in my fic.
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone!

The tent was impossibly hot. John lay sprawled upon the cot, naked and breathless. “Do you have to leave?”

“You know I do, captain.” Major James Sholto replied.

John sat up to watch his commanding officer pull on his uniform. “You have five minutes.”

Sholto smiled, amusement touching his pale blue eyes. “You’ll get me in trouble.”

John reached out and took the major’s hand, pulling his attention back towards the cot. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Sholto pulled his hand away and gently ran his fingers through John’s cropped hair. “They have to be tested sometime.”

John nodded, staring up at his lover. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Sholto leaned down and kissed him. “It’s routine, Watson. We’ll be fine.”

John wrapped his arms around the major, holding him tightly. “Come back safe.”

Sholto kissed him and for a moment it was all tongues and teeth before he breathlessly pulled away. “I have to get dressed.” Gently he stepped away.

John stood up and helped Sholto with his uniform, making sure every detail was perfect. “You look magnificent.” 

“And you’re out of uniform, soldier.” Sholto smiled at him before leaning in for another kiss. “Don’t let anyone die today, captain.”

“I won’t.” John promised.

Sholto waved at him as he left the tent.

John sat down on the bed. A part of him knew what was coming next… The number that would die, the way his James had appeared, broken and burned in the hospital bed. It was coming and he couldn’t stop it.

^.~

John gasped and sat up. The room was familiar although a little different from what he remembered. For a time the room had functioned as a second lab. There were still a collection of beakers on top of the chest of drawers. 

Memories of Afghanistan began to fade as he took deep, cleansing breaths. Only the heat remained. It was a lingering summer that carried into the fall, damn climate change. The clock told him it was a little past four in the morning, too early to get up. His cock was hard but there was no helping it. John did not want to masturbate, thinking about relationships past.

As he adjusted his robe over his vest and pants, he thought about James Sholto… It had been years since he had seen the man. The major wasn’t doing very well, adjusting to civilian life and it broke John’s heart. Their time together during John’s wedding day had been brief.

John padded down the stairs to enter the flat proper and start the kettle. His bladder made itself known despite his erection and he entered the bathroom. It was too early for a shower and the running water would wake Sherlock, so he contented himself with trying to pee. It took some effort but he eventually managed to relieve his bladder. As he moved to the sink to wash his hands the bathroom door opened and Sherlock walked in, draped in a sheet. Of course… Because it was unseasonably hot. “I’m almost done.” John remarked from his place at the sink.

Sherlock took no notice of him and instead aimed for the toilet, letting out a strong stream.

John sighed and used the flannel to wipe his damp hands.

“If you’re making tea…”

John turned around to face Sherlock who nonchalantly shook off the last drops of urine and flushed the toilet. John looked away again. “I suppose you want tea… At four in the morning.”

Sherlock gave him a faint smile and went to the sink. Opening his sheet, his chest was exposed in the harsh bathroom light. The wound on his chest was an angry pink, causing John a moment of guilt. His wife was the reason Sherlock was recovering from a gunshot wound. 

“I’ll bring it to you then…” 

Sherlock dried his hands and left the bathroom. John took a few moments more to look at himself in the mirror before exiting and checking on the kettle.

The water was ready and he made two mugs of tea the way they liked it. Carefully he carried both and lightly tapped at Sherlock’s bedroom door with his toe.

“Come in.” Sherlock answered.

John sighed and managed to juggle two hot mugs while opening the door and entering Sherlock’s inner sanctum. The lamp was on the nightstand, casting Sherlock in a yellow glow as he sat upon the bed, sheet pooled in his lap. “It’s a little warm for tea, isn’t it?” John asked as he held out a mug to Sherlock.

Sherlock took it and didn’t bother to sip it before placing it on the nightstand. “You had a nightmare.”

“I did not.” John denied, taking a sip from his own mug.

“A sex dream, then.” Sherlock replied, picking up his own tea for a sip.

“Why are you even awake?” John asked.

Sherlock patted the vacant side of the bed next to him.

John sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, setting his tea down on the other nightstand.

“It’s too hot to sleep.” Sherlock took another sip of his tea.

“And yet there you are, drinking hot tea.”

“As are you.” 

“Ah… But I woke up and had to pee.”

“Me too.” Sherlock answered with another sip.

“You couldn’t even wait for me to leave the bathroom.”

“I had to go rather badly and I was uncertain if you would take your shower, barring my entry for an average of fifteen minutes… Nineteen minutes if you planned to take your time.”

“I wasn’t going to turn on the water and wake you up!” John insisted.

“What did you dream about?”

“Why are you interested?” John asked, aware of Sherlock’s attempt to disarm him so that he would slip up.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at John, assessing him. “It was a sex dream.”

John took another sip of tea, choosing to ignore Sherlock’s curiosity.

Sherlock set down the mug of tea and lifted his leg, the sheet bunched at his waist. “Who was in it?”

“Sherlock!” John moaned, rubbing his face. 

Sherlock bit his lips and crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to touch his wound. 

The gesture just served to remind John of what Mary had done and he set his tea down. Was that why he was dreaming about James Sholto? The feeling of helplessness was similar. 

“You can take your shower now. I’m awake.” Sherlock stated, looking to John.

“It’s four in the morning. I should be sleeping.” John answered.

“It’s too hot to sleep.”

John set down his mug of tea and leaned back against the headboard with his eyes shut. It had been too hot to sleep the last time he had been with Sholto. 

“Aren’t you warm?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yeah.” John answered.

“Fewer clothes allow your body’s natural cooling to work properly.” 

“I know.” John adjusted his position, sitting up in Sherlock’s bed with his eyes closed and his head on the headboard. Under the small of his back was an extra pillow. Somewhere to his side, Sherlock kicked away something and turned off the lamp before going still.

John opened his eyes and found that it was once again dark. The streetlight outside filtered through the curtains to reveal Sherlock laying naked on his belly, the light touching the contours of his muscles. John was hard again and he shifted so that his head was on the pillow. “You shouldn’t sleep on your wound.”

Sherlock grunted in answer and then rolled onto his side, facing away from John.

John sat up and dropped his feet off the side of the bed.

“You sleep better when you are with someone.” Sherlock stated, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

“It wouldn’t be… Right.” John answered.

“When have you known me to be right?” Sherlock replied. “Go back to sleep, John.”

John shrugged off his robe and lay down on the bed properly and took a deep, calming breath. A glance at Sherlock revealed his silhouette. A thin waist with the smooth rise of his hip. The roundness of his buttocks was accentuated by his legs being tucked up in a fetal position on his side of the bed. How long ago had it been since John had been allowed to touch the form of another man? To feel a cock in his hand that wasn’t his own? To be pushed to the bed by someone who was equal to him in strength with kisses that burned from an unshaven beard? Father had called it ‘unnatural’ to want such things. 

“Do you want to be dead, John, like those bloody poofters dying now? That’s what will happen to you.” His father’s words had haunted him for thirty years. James Sholto had indulged him, indulged his need. When James kissed him and made love to him, John found couldn’t hear his father over the major’s reassurances.

Sherlock inhaled deeply. His body half rolled onto his back, his arm stretched out and back as if he was starting the backstroke. His hand hit the headboard and he dropped it onto the pillow beside his head. And then his body relaxed as his hip settled. His cock was half erect in the pale streetlight. It gave a twitch and John looked away. Now was not the time or place to be looking at his best friend’s penis. The scent of Sherlock’s musky body odor from the heat accompanied his movement and John breathed it in.

“You’re still awake.” Sherlock commented sleepily, turning onto his side to face John.

John closed his eyes and desperately tried to pretend that he hadn’t been looking at Sherlock’s body. “It will take a while.”

“Mm…” Sherlock hummed, tucking a hand under his pillow and pulled his knees up. His body now invaded John’s half of the bed if they were to divide the bed equally in half. Sherlock inhabited the center, leaving John his small sliver on the edge. “You’re too hot. Take off more.”

For a moment John imagined himself sprawled naked on the bed. The idea was tempting. Sitting up, he compromised and removed his vest to lay in just his pants. It was then that he realized Sherlock’s eyes were open and the detective was looking at him in the dim light of the room. John bit his lips and deftly removed his pants, tossing them off the bed. 

Sherlock shifted again, once again on his belly.

John reached out to lightly touch the other man’s shoulder, guiding him to roll back over again onto the other side of the bed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” It didn’t escape him that Sherlock was fully erect. Gently he pushed the curls from Sherlock’s face as he half sat beside him on the bed. “Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” Sherlock replied.

“Then what do you want?” John asked, immediately regretting it when Sherlock placed a hot hand on his forearm. Leaning down, he kissed the sweaty forehead. 

“Tell me what you dreamed about.” Sherlock insisted.

John lay on his belly, arms under his chin. “I was in Afghanistan. It was hot… So hot. Like this but worse.”

“Hard to imagine…”

“It was more of a memory, really… Mixed with knowledge I have now. I didn’t want him to go because I knew what would happen to him. He went anyway. I tried everything I could to keep him there with me. He left… And I was alone. And when he returned he didn’t want me anymore. He was broken.”

Sherlock placed a hot hand on John’s back. “Major Sholto. He was your…”

“Yes.” John answered. “I briefly had a boyfriend. Although it wasn’t common knowledge. That sort of thing was discouraged.”

“John?”

John looked to his friend, barely able to see him in the darkness. “Yes?”

“It will be daylight in about three hours.” Sherlock responded.

John looked at the clock. “That sounds about right.”

“John…”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“If I was to ask you to give me those three hours…”

“Give you?” John echoed, unsure what the detective meant.

“So we might pretend…” Sherlock stopped and swallowed hard. “Can I have those three hours?”

“Pretend what?” John asked, unsure what was being proposed.

“It’s only three hours, John. Three hours when you are mine…”

The way Sherlock said “mine” in a deep growl caused John’s cock to harden with interest. “You want me to be yours? But why for only three hours?” 

“Because if it doesn’t work we can always say, ‘well, it was only three hours out of many years together as friends.’ If it’s terrible then it’s no great loss and we’ll never have to speak of it again. Like the time we spent in the drunk tank after your stag party.” Sherlock reasoned.

John frowned. If he was going to be with Sherlock he hoped it would be for a lot longer than three measly hours. But three hours was all Sherlock offered him. “Alright. Three it is.”

“You agree?” There was a hopeful quality to Sherlock’s voice.

“If that is what you want, I’ll give it to you.” John breathed and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. “I give you everything, Sherlock. All of me. For three hours.”

Sherlock inhaled and held his breath and froze. After a long pause he lightly touched John’s hip. “What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?” John asked. 

“What am I allowed to do?” 

“I told you… You can have everything.” John answered.

“I don’t know where to begin.” Sherlock admitted. “I never thought I would get this far.”

John shifted and lightly kissed those lips he had often fantasized about. They attempted to speak but soon got distracted kissing John’s lips. 

Sherlock made a soft mewling sound and gently guided John to climb on top of him.

John was careful, knowing Sherlock was still recovering. Most of his weight was on his legs and elbows as he thoroughly kissed the detective. They were all tongue and teeth. Finally John broke the kiss and rested his forehead to the other man. “How far do you want this to go?”

“Can we manage a whole lifetime’s worth in only three hours?” Sherlock queried, resting his hands on John’s waist.

“We can try.” John answered, kissing him lightly. “But we should be careful… You’re still recovering.” Pulling away, he kissed down Sherlock’s sternum to breath on the puffy, pink scar. Passing it, he kissed further down. 

Sherlock rested his hands on John’s shoulders, almost unconsciously pushing him down his body. When John reached his genitals he sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

John buried his face against Sherlock’s sex, taking in the musky scent. It had been years since he had been allowed to be with a man in this way. Women were nice and John enjoyed pleasuring a woman with his tongue. But men were different. Sherlock’s erection under his lips was proof that the man was excited. John kissed at the root, behind the scrotum where Sherlock’s sex scent was the strongest. Open mouth kisses were pressed against the detective’s scrotum, feeling the testicles roll around inside. Pubic hair tickled his nose and he smiled as he lightly drew his tongue up the underside of the shaft to the tip, licking away the pre-cum that oozed from the urethra.

Sherlock gasped and opened his legs wider, his hands clutching the sheets.

John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock’s belly button, letting the hot cock, rest against his throat.

“John…” Sherlock whispered.

John wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock’s penis and went to work, suckling at the tip, using his hand to give an occasional pull as his tongue swirled. Sherlock’s gasps and moans were heavy in his ears.

“John… John stop!” Sherlock commanded.

John pulled off, keeping his hand around the base. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Sherlock stared down at him in the darkness with only the streetlight for illumination. “I’m going to… Going to…”

“Ejaculate? That’s the whole point.” John answered, his breath warm across the tip.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I told you, you can have everything… That includes my mouth and my throat. I’m yours, remember?” John licked him again. “Let me…”

Sherlock lay back on the bed. “Alright…”

John resumed his suckling, using his hand and his mouth until he felt Sherlock’s testicles pull up into his body and the detective gave a soft cry of agony. Cum shot down his throat and he swallowed it all until there was nothing left. Pulling off, he climbed back up Sherlock’s body and kissed his lips. 

Sherlock stirred and made a sound. “You… Taste like me.”

“Yep.” John smiled, kissing him. “You didn’t have to warn me.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders and held him tight, trembling.

“Are you alright?”

Sherlock released his hold. “I am fine. You’re hard.”

John hummed in agreement and lazily moved his hips. 

Sherlock moved, half rolling under John as he reached out blindly for the nightstand.

John eased off, curious as to what Sherlock was looking for.

Sherlock returned to his previous position and pressed a tube into John’s hand.

“What is this?”

“Lubrication.” Sherlock answered.

John sat up, sitting between Sherlock’s thighs. Holding the tube up, he tried to squinting to read it in the darkness. “Are you sure?”

Sherlock rolled again and the lamp turned on. “It should be.”

John blinked at the sudden light and focused on the tube of lube in his hand. Vaguely he wondered how long it had been in the drawer and why Sherlock had it. 

Sherlock pulled up his knees and tilted his pelvis. “What’s wrong? You said you would be mine.”

“I know what I said.” John answered, looking down at Sherlock’s body spread out below him. “Do you really want this… With me?”

The detective gave him a smile. “How long has it been for you, John?”

John stared down at the lube. “Years.” And he could still remember the breathless gasps he had made when James had finally managed to push himself fully into him. They moved together with awkwardness. The cot had creaked rhythmically to the force of the major’s thrusts. The tempo steadily increased as Sholto approached his orgasm. John had felt the thrill and the stretch of being taken by someone he loved and admired. “It’s been years.” 

Sherlock looked away shyly. “I can be on my hands and knees if it will be easier for you. Or I can turn off the lamp so you do not have to look at me.”

John shook his head. “Don’t be silly. I’m yours.” His eyes glanced at the clock. “At least for another two and a half hours.” John uncapped the tube and squeezed out a generous quantity onto his left hand. “This is probably going to be uncomfortable… The whole thing.”

“Was it for you?”

“Yes… But I wanted it with every fiber of my being. We don’t have to do this. Many couples don’t.” John reasoned.

“Do it.” Sherlock breathed. “You promised.”

John pushed a finger down, feeling around until he found someplace warm and impossibly tight. “You’re going to have to relax… Or else it’s going to take the whole two hours getting you open enough to take me.”

Sherlock arched his head back and moaned, raising his hips against John’s hand. 

“This beginning bit may be easier with you on your hands and knees.” John prompted.

Sherlock gave a soft grunt and rolled over, lifting his ass into the air.

John kissed a well formed butt cheek and pushed his finger in. “Relax.”

Sherlock opened his knees wider. Dangling over the bed his cock was already beginning to fill out.

John caressed the hardening genitals, pushing another finger in and starting the slow process of opening Sherlock. His teeth gently nipped at Sherlock’s backside, hearing the detective squeal. His lips and tongue soothed the spot. 

Sherlock pushed back into his hand and he slipped a third finger in. “Please… Please, John…”

“What do you want?” John asked, kissing the small of the detective’s back. 

“With every fiber of my being, John… Need this.”

John removed his fingers and sat up to hastily slather some lube onto himself. The tip pushed in without any problems and then Sherlock pressed back into him, taking most of him in. “Gently… Gently, you’ll hurt yourself.” John soothed.

Sherlock pushed all the way back so he was practically in John’s lap. “John…”

“I’m here.” John answered, kissing his back. 

“Are you mine?” 

“Yes, Sherlock. I’m yours.” John whispered.

Sherlock shifted his position to be on his knees with his head and shoulders on the bed. “Take me.”

“Turn over.” John insisted.

“Why?” Sherlock responded from the mattress.

“Because I want to look at you.” John answered helplessly.

Sherlock pulled away and rolled over, his legs open.

John positioned himself and pushed in, watching the expressions on Sherlock’s face change from surprise to awe. From his position he couldn’t quite reach Sherlock’s lips. So he contented himself with kissing his nipples as he thrust into Sherlock’s body over and over. Years of experience gave him stamina and he used it to give Sherlock a long experience, occasionally reaching down to stroke the detective and keep him engaged. 

Sherlock seemed to be drifting in and out of the experience. His eyes closed and his back arched as his head rolled. His hands roamed John’s body, occasionally gripping his buttocks to urge him deeper. The room was filled with his breathless moans and gasps and a soft, occasional “John.”

John held out for as long as he could. But soon his body couldn’t take anymore. With a soft groan he tipped over the edge. Below him Sherlock wiggled for a moment before an answering spurt of warmth covered both of their bellies. Exhausted, John collapsed, his ear to Sherlock’s racing heart.

Sherlock clung to the man above him.

For a time neither of them knew no more.

John finally budged and looked at the clock. At least forty five minutes had passed since he had been given lube. They had an hour and forty five minutes. Gently he attempted to extract himself from Sherlock’s hold, but the detective would not let go. “I have to clean us up.”

Sherlock’s hold relaxed.

John got up and padded off to the bathroom to wash up before wetting a flannel and bringing it back to the bed. Carefully he cleaned Sherlock. “Did I hurt you?”

Sherlock shook his head. 

John dropped the flannel onto the floor and sat on his side of the bed, disturbed by Sherlock’s subdued mood. “Sex changes things…”

“That’s not what’s bothering me.”

“You admit you are bothered.” John pointed out.

Sherlock gave a soft sigh and rubbed his face, drawing up his knees. “I can’t let you go.”

John stared down at his hands. 

“I don’t want this… I don’t want this feeling but I can’t escape it. And it hurts. It hurts so much. I thought I could work it out of my system, but it just keeps getting stronger. I can’t…”

“What hurts, Sherlock?” John asked, quietly.

“My regard for you. My heart… My soul, everything. I need you. With every fiber of my being I need you, John.”

John reached across Sherlock to turn off the lamp before settling at the detective’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. “You have me. You will always have me.” His lips sought out skin and he placed a kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder, breathing in his warm, unwashed, musky scent. “I am yours.”

“I can’t do this, John.” Sherlock whispered.

“Do what?”

Sherlock rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around John, kissing him fiercely. “If it comes down to a choice between you or me… I choose you. Always you.”

“Sherlock?” John was confused.

“You have to survive, John.”

John didn’t like the tone the conversation was taking. “Sherlock…”

“Remember this moment… These few hours before sunrise when we were free to be lovers. I wanted this, John. I wanted you.”

“I want you too.” John answered, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and pulling him to his chest. “You’re scaring me.”

“You’re a smart man, John Watson… When you want to be.” Sherlock whispered.

“It feels like a goodbye.”

Sherlock clung to John, silent.

“If you leave me again I swear I will track you down and kill you myself!” John seethed, upset with the idea that Sherlock would throw away his life again.

Sherlock’s silence was damning.

John pushed Sherlock’s head back so he could look him in the eye in the darkness. “Do you understand me?”

“Everything is for you. Always you.” Sherlock answered.

John pulled Sherlock’s head back to his chest and held him, the tears burned at the corners of his eyes and his throat closed up. “What do you have planned in that brain of yours?”

But Sherlock only held on tighter.

“How about… I don’t break up with you when the sun rises? And you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re still married to Mary.”

“I’m pretty sure marrying me with a false identity means I can get an annulment.”

“Don’t…” Sherlock answered. “Think about your child.”

“You’re still stuck with me. I demand that we continue this, whatever it is, for years to come.”

“John…”

“Don’t ‘John’ me!” John growled. “You listen to me Sherlock bloody Holmes. I may not be as smart as you, but I know when something is up. You’re making an effort to say goodbye. And I don’t accept it. Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me, do you understand?”

Sherlock was silent.

“I’m a soldier.” John’s fingers tangled themselves in Sherlock’s curls. “Whatever it is… We’ll do it together. Alright? You and me. I don’t want three hours.” John pushed the curls from Sherlock’s forehead and kissed him. “Don’t leave me again. I can’t survive this.”

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John and held him.

Too soon the sun rose over the horizon, lightening the sky outside as the streetlight guttered. “Time’s up.” Sherlock murmured.

John kissed him deeply, cradling his jaw in his hands. 

Sherlock stared back at him in silence as if committing his features to memory.

John reached for the sheet and pulled it over the both of them. Finally there was a small break in the heat and the temperature seemed to be a little chilly to lay in only their skin. The sheet settled on them both as he settled against Sherlock’s side. 

“Mary cannot know.” Sherlock breathed.

“Cannot know what?” John asked.

“She cannot know what we’ve done.”

“Embarrassed?” John asked. “Ashamed?”

“Concerned.” Sherlock answered. “For your safety… Your reputation.”

“Since when do you worry about my reputation?” John chuckled softly. 

“There are many out there who would see you as my weakness. I will not have our indiscretions play into their hand.” Sherlock whispered.

“I’m a soldier.” John kissed him. 

“A soldier does as he’s told.” Sherlock stared up at him. “No one else can know of our weakness.”

“Weakness?”

“Our pressure points, John. Promise me… Until we are safe.”

John nodded. “I promise.”

Sherlock pulled John closer. “I’m tired.”

John yawned. It was almost a sympathetic response.

“Stay with me.”

“Of course.” John answered, shutting his eyes and almost immediately falling asleep.

^.~

John stood outside the room, looking in at Sherlock sleeping on the bed. “Tell me again why he did this.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Magnussen?”

“I understand the Magnussen part. I don’t understand the attempted suicide by overdose.”

“He knew he would be sent on a suicide mission for killing Magnussen. I think he chose to face the inevitable on his own terms.” Mycroft responded.

John took a long, shaky breath and held it, staring at the man in the observation room. “He knew.”

Mycroft bowed his head and gave a soft hum.

“But why choose this?” John demanded.

“He did it for you.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” John insisted. “I wanted him alive and safe and whole… Not this.”

“His vitals are improving. He should recover.” Mycroft offered. For a time they were silent, watching the man in the bed sleep. “I know that during his recovery from the bullet wound to his heart that you shared his bed. Will you be doing so again for this recovery?”

John gave him a horrified look at his audacity.

“I was merely curious. I might speed his recovery.”

“I’m not sure what good it will do him. It didn’t stop him from doing something as reckless as this.”

“Perhaps if you gave him something to live for… Rather than die for…” Mycroft commented before stepping away, leaving John alone with his thoughts.

\--Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song by Sting.
> 
> As TJLC explains, John is a product of the time period he was raised in. I grew up in the same time period (I'm 18 months older than Benedict). In the 80s and 90s many people were afraid to come out of the closet... And there was the AIDS crisis which added a social stigma. It was assumed that if you were gay you were automatically going to die of AIDS (in 2016 there are still people who assume that and they are wrong because we know a lot more about HIV and AIDS 2016 than we did in 1985). Many homosexuals did die because there was an idea that they "deserved it" so not a lot of effort was made to research the epidemic. Originally it was labeled GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency). It wasn't until thousands of people were dead that the world realized that HIV and AIDS affects everyone regardless of their sexual orientation. It took years for research to be done. Imagine if we were that slow in researching and treating Ebola today.


End file.
